iet street near Montmartre. The place was nearly empty, save for a few customers enjoying their morning pastries. The large glass w

g the world as a photographer, there was something about this city that always pulled her back. Maybe it was the art, the history, or the

Tourists with cameras slung around their necks, artists setting up easels along the sidewal

night. Antoine Laurent, one of Paris's most esteemed art curators, had reached out, asking her to consider featuring her wo

nned on stayin

ffee and turned her gaze back

e he

iel Le

less confidence of a man who owned half the city. His sharp jawline, piercing green eyes, and dark

all the people she had expected to

of laughter, of whispered promises, of nights spent beneath the Parisian

h

used on anything else. But just as she was a

cond, neither

ing across his face before it was

l, too stifling. She had no intention of rekindling

orror, he started

en them closed

knew what he wanted. And right n

oth, deep, carrying that same e

ightly, offering a tig

amused that she had used his full name.

main composed. "I could

it, the camera bag slung over her shoulder. His expression was unreadable, but

he said final

passing

voice held a no

s gaze hea

the unspoken questions in his eyes-the ones he wasn't voic

give him the sati

ting his weight sl

being screaming at her to say no

ts smooth, deliberate. A waiter approached, and he

hed again, heavy w

te finally said, hi

s a lie. He looked even better than sh

yed on his lips. "Stil

d. "It's

d her camera bag. "Still

ll burying yourself

was no humor in it. "So

they

d, and he took a sl

the Laurent Galler

ow do you kno

an old friend. He mentioned a certa

e. She should have known their

ecided yet,"

as firm, certain. "Your w

ng her cup tightly. "I

orward slight

me, she wanted to say. Because it

dn't give hi

ced a smile. "It

g moment. "You were never

ugh. "You knew a dif

darkened. "I kn

shot throug

ed to le

abbing her camera bag. "It wa

lightly. "We're no

ar

go, but his vo

the chance

trap of her bag. She should keep wal

ent, she turned. "And I neve

with something inte

en

moment, then shook her head

café, leaving behind the one person

Parisian streets, she knew-this